


we're all monsters in hell

by ern-jaeger (kogamis)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29923023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kogamis/pseuds/ern-jaeger
Summary: Her eyes were the key, the thing that ultimately convinced him. He knew that he would hate himself less this way. She was the one who chose.
Relationships: Mikasa Ackerman/Eren Yeager
Kudos: 2





	we're all monsters in hell

It was always painfully obvious how different they were. They came from different races, hers the rarer and leaving her fair-skinned, white as a sheep compared to the rest of them. Especially him, with his tan complexion and loud mouth that kept him visible in a crowd. She was the quiet one, who could raise her voice when necessary and kept small talk to a minimum.

She was an expert at masking anxiety–at least to the others. The two pairs of eyes that had watched her for years could tell when nerves were flaring despite her best efforts to appear composed. He, on the other hand, was much more vocal with his emotions, unafraid to pick a fight if someone crossed him at the wrong time, on the wrong day.

The list of differences between the two of them was endless, but their similarities made up for it and then some.

In a team structure, they were an inseparable combination. She was the talent, he was the determination. Both were strong individually, but together they could accomplish nearly anything—and that's without adding their genius friend into the mix.

Communication was key. Mikasa had a way with words that was incomparable. She could tell what he was thinking with one glance at him, and she always knew exactly what to say in any situation. Eren was the listener, ears always open, although some things were harder to accept than others. Despite that she could tell him anything, and with or without words he would still understand.

He remembered a time where he once admired his superiors' ability to fight without speaking, and here he was now, with a partner of his own to read his moves and match them in the blink of an eye.

They flashed forward through the trees in unison, following each others' paths. She carved through flesh like she was born to do it, while he led them on to their destination. It was a hunt. A chase, rather. It had all come down to this upcoming battle, the weight was on his shoulders, and Mikasa was with him to fight it until the end.

The Corps managed to capture Berthold, by some miracle. Reiner had escaped the trap and the two of them were hot on his trail, followed closely by the rest of the squad.

The brawny blond was crafty, and very desperate. Eren didn't know how and couldn't explain it if he tried, but he knew exactly where to find him. Almost like he could see his location on a radar, and even more faint was the sense that he could control him. If only he just knew how.

Mikasa didn't second-guess his whim. Instead she followed him loyally into the horde of Titans, keeping close behind and sweeping forward to slice through another when he got too close for her comfort. And he trusted her and her abilities enough to let her do as she pleased.

That was how they worked. Trust was the foundation of their relationship and without it they would fall apart. If they couldn't trust in each other, who else was there?

By now they were practically on top of Reiner. Eren could feel it somehow, inexplicably, but he was positive of it. When he could, he looked over his shoulder at Mikasa, who was soaring just a couple meters above him.

Her instincts were keen, perhaps even more so than his. Just as he looked at her she found his eyes, and in them she found several emotions and thoughts, but one stood out above all. Eren watched as her eyes narrowed with a furrowed brow to match his, words passing between them, her lips creasing in preparation as she nodded.

This was it. They were going to kill Reiner. They were so close now that the traitor was within eyesight, a gray cloak whipping out from behind him as he raced from them, keeping dangerously low to the horde of hands clawing at the three of them.

There was hardly a plan involved but even so it wasn't necessary. Mikasa was the combat and maneuver gear expert, and Eren was going to be the backup if she couldn't subdue him on her own. The last thing they wanted was for him to transform, but if Reiner was pushed into that corner then he was going to have to follow.

Although he trusted her with every grain of his being, Eren still found himself holding his breath in as he watched Mikasa fly forward, tearing through the masses and leaving behind a bloody mess of steaming entrails. He kept his distance as she had warned with her eyes, lifting himself higher into the trees to have an edge if he needed to step in.

Neither of them thought it would be necessary. Mikasa was fast–not as fast as their captain, but she was a blur to the eye. He could barely follow her movements in the dark canopy of branches and the shade of an onsetting evening, if it weren't for the streak of red wound securely around her neck. She didn't seem to tire either, arms striking down Titans one after another like it was easy.

Soon enough there were no more obstacles between her and Reiner. She'd sped up to him easily even as he caught wind of her, eyes widening as he found hers glaring at him over his shoulder. Her arms were poised, ready to swing, and all the fury she had once contained spiraled back into her and seethed into liquid, fiery onyx.

Then her arms moved, and multiple things happened at once.

Eren, and evidently Reiner, judging by the way he curled himself in to protect his neck from her aim, expected her to end it in one swing. Instead she got a foothold on him, abandoned a blade and gripped the other with both hands, then shoved it through the nape of his neck and out the other side.

Even from this distance, Eren could hear the gurgling of blood in his throat. It was gruesome, yet entirely, grotesquely satisfying. He could never forget the sound, no matter how many times he relived this moment in his head.

Milliseconds passed while Mikasa struggled to move the blade, attempting to slice it through the base of his neck, but his skin was tougher than she anticipated. Even if he was stunned, Reiner's hand flew to her wrists and cupped them, his strength outmatching hers by a landslide.

It was time for him to intervene, but he realized this just a half a second too late. Mikasa had been one step ahead of their enemy until then, and she, too, realized what was happening once the two of them started to decline.

Her head whipped around to find Eren changing his course, soaring in her direction with panic in his eyes. Thoughts running a mile a minute, she struggled with Reiner and sunk lower into the dark bottom of the forest where countless Titans lurked, awaiting them.

All three of them were very aware of the two possible outcomes. Reiner had given him a choice. And the few seconds Eren had to make his decision were long enough to last an entire lifetime.

Her eyes were the key, the thing that ultimately convinced him. He knew that he would hate himself less this way. She was the one who chose.

She was gone in the next second. Both of them. They had disappeared into the underbrush while he continued onward, awaiting a flash of light.

He felt numb. There was nothing. There was wind in his ears and an unrelenting wetness in his eyes, but he couldn't see anything. He didn't feel hot or cold, asleep or awake. There was nothing. Until there was a ripping sensation and the light from torches, with endless yelling pounding a headache into him.

Someone pulled him from his deeply-rooted spot in his Titan, steam arising all around. Gentle but tough hands yanked on his torso, screaming his name at him. It felt like a dream. Everything was fuzzy, and yet he felt like he was cringing. Like his entire body was writhing in pain, but he was limp.

Something was horribly wrong. He could feel it in his bones. His memory was blank.

His eyes were wide open but he couldn't see anything. Until suddenly he could see everything, like someone had poured a bucket of water over his head and removed a blindfold. He bolted upright, easily freeing himself from the pair of arms trying to hold him down.

Familiar voices were screaming at him, calling his name, but one of them was missing. Something told him that something was very, deeply wrong. He made a mistake.

He was on his feet, tearing through the groups of soldiers in the area, eyes red and steam floating in wisps off his skin. His feet carried him in an unknown direction but somehow, almost as if he knew somewhere in the depths of his guilty conscience, he found what he was looking for.

On the ground, broken and breathing bare, she lied staring up at nothing. Every muscle in his body was tying in endless knots, but a strange gentleness overcame him. He collapsed on his knees and leaned over her silently, holding in his breath.

She was in pain. A lot of pain. It was evident by the glossy sheen painted on her widened eyes and the damp scarlet all over her clothes. He couldn't hold himself back from touching her, reaching around her and pulling her into his lap, hunched over her as if he could give her some sort of protection from the inevitable. He moved her slowly, like she was cracked glass.

Her breaths were shallow and hardly there, and she was as stiff as the trees closing in on them. But for a moment, one long and breathless minute, she relaxed. He was always warm, even when his heart had gone as cold as her skin.

She couldn't speak, and neither could he. It wasn't necessary. Her breaths continued to thin, and eventually, sooner than he'd like to remember, they ceased altogether, and she was still.

Her body was limp, like delicate, bloody string lying twisted in his arms. He couldn't let her go but he couldn't bear to keep holding her, either. His thoughts raced through a mind numb to emotions. He couldn't remember her name, and barely recognized the face when he finally laid her on the ground where he had found her.

Maybe it wasn't her. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he found the wrong corpse, and maybe she was still out there somewhere.

His quivering fingers traced her skin, searching for an answer. His breaths were as irregular as his heartbeat and there were tears obscuring his vision. But with a touch of familiar, worn fabric, he knew. With a quick tugging on the red, he tightened it, and then backed up.

This was wrong. This couldn't be real. He was stumbling over feet and tripping and then he was caught by a pair of arms flying around him, gripping him by the waist as he writhed. Then a second, and a third pair, and for a moment he was stilled.

Out of nowhere, he started to scream. Beyond the hurt cries of those who grieve, but deep, inhuman roars from inside his stomach that clawed his throat raw and made his jaw ache.

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see, he couldn't hear anything except for his bellows. His chest felt tight and contracted and he felt knives twisting within his torso, tearing him up like the napes of necks relentlessly. It wouldn't stop. He had been stabbed through the chest and he'd had the shit beaten out of him and he had been on the brink of death countless times, endured so much pain and suffering and none of that even came close to the tidals of agony that crashed through him, leaving him scarred and breathless and violently trembling and empty.

Time had stopped, and he had no idea how long it had been until someone finally snapped him out of his nightmare.

"You bastard!" Jean shrieked, striking him in the gut with a raging punch that sent him stumbling on his feet. "How could you let this happen?"

Someone else intervened, shoving Jean back and pulling him away while Eren broke free and soared forward with a flying fist of his own, his rage doubling. Whoever was holding him back grasped at his arms again, yanking him back and struggling to hold him.

"You let her die!" He yelled, his voice carrying the distance easily in the night.

"Fuck you!" Eren garbled, somehow forming the words with a numb mouth and dry lips. He continued to struggle, limbs flying and body writhing to break free.

"Get ahold of yourself," said a stern voice dripping with hidden emotion. The short man stood in front of Eren, blocking the view to the body, then turned his head over his shoulder. "And somebody cover that up, for fuck's sake."

A sheet was retrieved on his request, while Eren's legs wobbled, unable to hold himself up anymore. He fell to his knees, and Armin let go to kneel beside him. The other two that had been holding him back released him, but stayed close.

He sat in silent agony for the longest time. The aching didn't fade, not even in the slightest. If anything it grew stronger, and more unbearable. He couldn't think of words to say, couldn't find his voice, so he continued to weep until his eyes ran dry.

The commander arrived on the scene shortly after, inspecting the damage.

The operation was deemed successful, with less-than-expected casualties. Even so, the loss was a hard blow to all those involved. Especially one in particular, of which he was informed as he did his rounds. A soldier handed him a keepsake to deliver while the troops prepared to evacuate back to the wall.

Erwin knelt in front of Eren and Armin, who hadn't moved even long after the body was moved. They both looked up with sad eyes and stained faces, Armin finding the strength to speak up and greet their commander, who nodded at him silently and cleared his throat.

"Thanks to you, Eren," Erwin began, picking his words carefully, "this plan was a success. We eliminated two of our biggest threats, which is an incomprehensible step forward. Never in my lifetime would I have believed humanity could have accomplished such a feat, and it's all because of your difficult sacrifice. You have my deepest thanks, respect, and admiration."

Eren cringed with his words, and his eyes found a new source for tears.

"This is for you." Cautiously, with his lone arm, Erwin held out a bundle of red, stained with dirt and dried blood. "I was told it was hers."

A long moment passed. Eren just stared at it blankly, so Armin took action and reached for it, cradling it gently in his lap and swallowing a lump in his throat.

"Th-thank you," he quivered, whose eyes couldn't leave the fabric in his hands.

"It was mine," Eren said suddenly, noticably disturbed and eyes on the ground. His voice shook in waves. "I gave it to her. When we met."

"She was always wearing it whenever I saw her," Erwin said quietly. "You must have been very important to her if she kept it all this time."

"…Yeah," Eren whispered with stuttering breath and wide eyes. "I was."

"We're preparing to leave immediately," Erwin said, "so you two should get back to your squad captain. I'll help you stand." And just like that, they were forced to face reality.

The first several footsteps were the hardest. Armin was weak on his feet while Eren could barely feel his legs. They leaned on each other, not speaking, and found their way to a cart.

Burning the bodies was the part he would never get used to. No matter how many soldiers that died, no matter how many bonfires they lit, no matter how many headstones lined the memorial grounds, it didn't get any easier. He could walk through the ritual a thousand times and still hesitate, wanting to save just another moment to remember the deceased before discarding them and moving on.

Despite how numb he felt, there was always the sting. It just seemed to make him even more indifferent to feeling, like it couldn't exist anymore.

He couldn't pick her body bag out from the rest of the pile, but he prefered it that way. It was easier to just think of it as another log for the fire, one who had shown bravery and skill and had strengthened his resolve numerous times, but had finally come to her end, as they were all destined to.

What would it be like when he died? Would it be Armin standing here, hands in fists and scarf heavy as it draped around his neck? Or would he be the last of the three, standing here for a second time with twice the ice in his chest?

When they burned his body, would he even feel it? Or would the body try to repair itself, regenerating each part as it burned away, a constant refusal to disappear that was as stubborn as the spirit who lived in it?

Or would his body disintegrate on its own, fading from the world and pretending to have never existed in the first place? It was no different from burning a corpse. They were just erasing the memory of one who used to live.

When the torch touched the bottom of the pile, Eren's breaths caught like glue. He felt like suffocating, like the red around his throat was too tight.

He couldn't stop reliving that moment. They could burn her body a hundred times and he would never forget her eyes, the stories they told. She was like an angel, bright and selfless and forever loyal to him. He couldn't ignore the last look she gave him, or the weight in his heart as he let her fall to her demise.

With a bitter choke, Eren swallowed the lump in his throat. He had wondered what kind of inhumanity Reiner had to posses in order to leave Berthold behind, how much pain the brawny blond had to endure to make the decision in as quick of a heartbeat to abandon the person he trusted the most in this world. Then realized that he, himself, was also that kind of monster.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on FFnet for the SNKArtists Big Bang (2016), reposted here for my sake. Thank you for reading.


End file.
